Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Leap Year Blog Hop - A Class Apart

As a British author brought up surrounded by all sorts of historic buildings, I guess it was kind of inevitable that I'd start my writing career by gravitated towards past times. Images of all those aristocratic lords and ladies up to no good really got my creative juices flowing. It was definitely a case of 'haves' and have nots' in the Regency period but, have things really changed that much.

Those were the thoughts going through my head when I wrote A Class Apart, a modern day historical if you like, featuring a titled lady who's fallen on hard times and a guy from the back streets of London who's made a name for himself in the financial world through his intelligence and sheer hard work. Octavia dislikes Jake and all he stands for but needs his backing if she's to save her ancestral home.

Here's how Jake reacts when he meets Octavia for the first time.

A sound of screeching tires
caused both men to stand and look out of the window in time to observe a Harley
Davidson with a garish paint job skid to a halt, sending gravel showering
everywhere. A long, shapely leg, leading to a slender, leather-clad rear, swung
over the saddle.

“Good God!” Jake said,
surprise taking precedence over good manners.

“Ah, at last.” The marquis
turned away from the window, an amused smile playing about his lips. “You’re
about to endure the dubious pleasure of meeting my granddaughter, Mr. Bentley,”
he said. “I do hope you have a strong constitution.”

Jake strolled into the far
corner of the room, somewhat taken aback by the change in the marquis’s
expression, which had gone from formally polite to indulgently affectionate. He
wondered when the prodigal granddaughter had returned to the fold. And more to
the point, why? He wondered a bit about that cute backside and those endless
legs, too.

Octavia burst into the room
like a tornado. She pulled off her full-face helmet and shook out a shiny
curtain of brunette hair. Watching her from the depths of the room, Jake
metaphorically whistled his appreciation. She was something else.

“Sorry, Gramps, there was an
accident on the bridge, and I couldn’t even get past it on the bike. Still, at
least Bentley-the-Beast isn’t here yet. He must be stuck, too.”

Lord Radleigh failed to
suppress a smile. “Octavia,” he said, “this is Mr. Bentley. Mr. Bentley, this
is my very bad-mannered granddaughter, Octavia.”

Seemingly not the slightest
bit put out by her faux pas, she turned to face him. She had obviously
been about to say something, but, assessing him with her eyes, all that passed
her lips was a strangled gasp. Jake waited her out in silence.

“Mr. Bentley, I didn’t see
you lurking there.”

Her voice, when she finally found
it, was accusatory, making it sound as though her rudeness had been his fault.
She offered her hand but no apology. As Jake made contact with it he felt a
sharp jolt of awareness rock his entire body. She felt it, too. He could tell
that much from her stunned expression and guessed she wasn’t any happier about
it than he was. He released her hand and strove to regain control of the
situation.

“Glad to meet you. Sorry
about the traffic. It must have been beastly for you.”

“Touché,” she said,
but her expression didn’t contain an ounce of penitence.

Jake eyed her
dispassionately. Obviously the fact that she’d been deliberately impolite to
someone of such social inconsequence didn’t even register on her radar. His
expression hardened. If she thought to drive the price of Radleigh up by trying
her upper-class antics with him, she had a lot to learn about business. The day
when an arrogant socialite could get the better of him had yet to dawn.

More coffee was poured, and
at last the matter of Radleigh was raised.

By Octavia.

She outlined her plans to
Jake in a cut-glass accent laced with an unmistakable thread of condescension.
Her attitude irritated him, and he was in no mood to listen to her impractical,
half-cocked scheme to belatedly save her home. She must have known about her
grandfather’s financial problems, and if she really cared about Radleigh, she
should have done something about it long before now.

Jake humored her by hearing
her out, his mind only half on what she was saying. Even so, he admitted to an
element of surprise. He found it hard to believe she’d managed to come up with
this scheme, accompanied by graphics, floor plans, and basic estimates in a
little more than the week she said it had taken her. Grudgingly he afforded her
some respect for her ingenuity.

He should turn the proposal
down flat, of course. It would be madness to do anything else. She intimated
she had other backers interested, but Jake wasn’t buying that. And he’d been
able to ascertain from the brief look he’d taken at her figures that she was
grossly underestimating the costs involved. Her plan was quite simply a
nonstarter. He’d turn her down and purchase Radleigh outright. It would be
heartless to raise her grandfather’s hopes by doing anything else.

So why was he still
hesitating? Perhaps because of the glimmer of hope he could see in the
marquis’s eye. Or there again, perhaps it was because the man so clearly adored
this wild, opinionated, selfish hoyden. She had instilled life into him since
Jake’s last visit, that was for sure. The man looked ten years younger. The
scheme was bound to fail anyway, and he’d get Radleigh in the end with a clear
conscience. He was still working all the hours God sent and wouldn’t be able to
spend much time here for the next year or two, anyway. But still? Was he losing
his mind even considering such a risky scheme?

Jake never allowed sentiment
to intrude upon his business dealings and was at a loss to explain why he was
even contemplating doing so on this occasion. He had no intention of being
railroaded by this condescending female. The fact that her physical attributes
excited instincts that had nothing to do with business was neither here nor
there. He’d already dated enough attractive women to last him a lifetime, and
there was nothing out of the ordinary about this one.

Actually what caught my eye Wendy is your reference to Andorra--one of my favorite places--traveled through with my parents when I was 13 from Paris en route to Morocco. What an incredibly beautiful place! Hope they've been able to continue their (heh heh) traditional economic pursuits. btw, love the button (LOL) . M. S. Spencer

Thanks for stopping by everyone. msellsworth. Andorra is still a time warp and, yes, tobacco is still their main crop. Even so, the politically correct brigade are encroaching and they're thinking of introducing a smoking ban. Talk about shooting their economy in the foot! I don't smoke and can appreciate its evils, but even so...

Saving Grace

About Me

I'm a Brit now dividing my time between Andorra and Florida. I live with my husband Andre and a rescued dog of indeterminate pedigree. I write historical and contemporary romance as Wendy Soliman and my W. Soliman persona is responsible for The Hunter Files, my marine crime novels based in Brighton.